To reach the Postern in the castle wall from the footbridge one must go
well up into the town and cross the great bridge that spans the Cologne;
then back along the north bank of the river by the street that leads to
the Postern. From the House under the Wall to the Postern, by way of the
Cologne bridge, is a half-hour's walk, though in a direct line, as the
crow flies, it may be less than three hundred yards. Neither Max nor I
knew whether our journey had been a success or a failure.
We rode leisurely back to the centre of the town, and asked a carter to
direct us to Marcus Grote's inn, The Mitre. We soon found it, and gave
mine host the letter that we bore from Castleman. Although the hour of
nine in the morning had not yet struck, Max and I eagerly sought our
beds, and did not rise till late in the afternoon. The next morning we
dismissed our squires, fearing they might talk. We paid the men, gave
them each a horse, and saw them well on their road back to Switzerland.
They were Swiss lads, and could not take themselves out of Burgundy fast
enough to keep pace with their desires.
Notwithstanding Castleman's admonition, Max determined to remain in
Peronne; not for the sake of Mary the princess, but for the smile of
Yolanda the burgher girl. I well knew that opposition would avail
nothing, and was quite willing to be led by the unseen hand of fate.
The evening of the second day after our arrival I walked out at dusk and
by accident met my friend, the Sieur d'Hymbercourt.
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